And Then I Met You
by TheConsultingAuthor
Summary: Quick drabble of when Sebastian met Moriarty; written as more of a psychological piece. If I get enough interest, I'd be more than happy to continue writing about the pair.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**

_This piece is a bit odd to me, not going to lie._  
><em>Consider it an experiment <em>

_I wanted to analyze how Sebastian may have felt_  
><em>when he'd first met Jim. I imagine him to have<em>  
><em>been happy in his skin, his work, and his religion, before<em>  
><em>Moriarty came in to the picture. <em>

_We begin our story after the turning point of a passionate  
>debate between the two. The whole thing is written as if<br>Sebastian is reflecting on it at a later point in time. _

_Comments and reviews extremely welcome._

* * *

><p>"I can't argue anymore, Jim" I said with a tone of surrender. The ground beneath my knees was cracked and dusty, littered with pebbles and trash all around. Looking back, it really did seem like the most beautifully accurate portrayal of my soul during that moment in time – broken, unkempt, in need of attention.<p>

"Do you honestly even know what an argument is? So far you've said nothing which is argumentative in nature. I've got a good feeling that brain of yours hasn't a clue. Really, do buy yourself a dictionary and study up if you plan to work for me." The slick-looking devil of a man loomed before my figure. He was scrawny and small, but his stature did nothing to reduce his intense presence. He kept a sense of mild amusement about him as he spoke down to me, though I could tell he was tired of my stories and speeches.

My heart was heavy. All the concepts I'd kept close throughout life - about good and bad, night and day, heaven and hell - were shaken. I had no clue which way was up or down anymore, and it was all because of this man. As he would say, my incoherency was best reflected when I tried to express myself verbally. I had no idea what thoughts to articulate around him. They all ended up a jumbled mess which the man took no hesitation to strike down, tearing my soul apart piece by piece.

As usual, it took no time for my emotion to transform my sleep-deprived eyes into teary and broken ones. I may be a soldier, but I'd never been well with confrontation. Nor had I been shaken so mentally and emotionally in my life. While I concentrated on the intensifying lump in my throat, Jim's invariable attention on me brought the slightest smile to my face. One of the strangest combinations of happiness and worry bubbled in the pit of my stomach. Oh, how ordinary of you, Jim would say. His convincingly evil and uncaring behavior was more than enough to show how cruel the man behind the suit truly was.

And then he presented his opinions to me. That life wasn't as good as I'd made it; that I'd settled myself in a small nest of lies and monotony which would blanket me until the day I died. I would believe myself to be happy, but never know what true happiness tasted like. I would think I'd made an impact in the world, when in reality I passed through without making any sort of mark at all.

I was taught by my parents to firmly believe against his ways and beliefs of cynicism and cruelty, as well as the lack of religious acceptance ever-so present within him. 'I'm quite extraordinary, and so are my plans' he had said at one point. 'I don't need to rely on a God to serve me when I've got the brains and wit to serve myself to whatever it is I want. Money. Power. Love. Possessions. I could have anything, and no amount of prayer would be able to change that.' He wasn't wrong; my mind justified his statement without hesitation, no matter how much I tried to fight it off. It was becoming an evident possibility that God may not be on our side after all. My heart cried like a poor baby – 'a sad, delusional soul,' Jim would say. So I presented him my opinion, too.

I grew passionately furious in no time at all; I showed dejection and expressed bitterness appropriately. My speech was full of stinging remarks that were slapped down like pesky flies by the overpowering presence. I made arguments that would easily make any other man back down and see level with me again. Yet he merely thought the display was cute – not only cute, but 'really very adorable.' My mouth went agape yet again as he continued to look down on me. The devil in him was overwhelming and awe-inspiring. Nothing would sway this man; he was strength in its purest form. And I needed desperately to learn how to harness a bit of that strength for myself.

So I smiled up to him. And he spoke. I listened, interjecting my thoughts now and then, receiving a verbal pat on the head for anything he found impressive. He thought I was intriguing, quite an endearing compliment from the incredible man. I reminded him that my belief in God remained unchanged, though he knew he'd shaken me enough to reduce my beliefs to their foundation. And I declared the conversation was a complete miracle for me, a long-needed epiphany which was enriching my being. The devil in him laughed out loud at such a statement. I would have winced, but the angel in me had already surrendered to this devil. There's no angel in him. There couldn't be any in me, either.

He talked to me as if he were holding a hand of eleven-month-old, teaching him to walk for the first time. I simply allowed myself to trust him and tightened the grip on his fatherly hand. He smiled down to me, though I knew such an expression didn't come without reason. He touched my brain, he grazed my thoughts, he bargained with my emotions. He played with them all until they finally fell apart, revealing the scared little boy I was. I'd expected he'd approach me with that menacing look across his face; yet when I saw him stride towards me, he bore an expression of sanctuary. He had broken me down to build me up again, to mold me into the form he saw fit. That was the moment my heart changed – the moment this sweet devil had saved me from an ordinary life and mind.

He saw the shift in my body language and facial expression; it was probably amusing to him, watching my emotional transformation. "Are you falling for me?" Jim asked. I couldn't tell if he were joking or not, his tone was so tender and loving. Accompanied by the smile on his face, I again felt as if the world were spinning.

"No." I said meekly, though in my heart I knew I already loved him more deeply than any other person before him. Jim was my savior. He simply gave me a nod and pat on the shoulder before turning to leave.

"Keep your phone on, my dear. I'll be in touch," he said without looking back to me. I simply remained on my knees, staring after him, wondering what my deal with the devil would yield in the future.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**

_After some consideration and requests,  
>I've decided to go ahead and push on with this story.<br>Forgive me if the language is odd;  
>This piece really is difficult to write.<em>

_Here we are given a glimpse into the events  
>following Sebastian meeting Jim.<br>__Hopefully our boy Moriarty will be nice to poor, broken Seb.  
>I don't believe he could handle any trauma right now. <em>

_Thank you very much for reading._

_And as always:  
>I do not own Sherlock or any characters involved. <em>

* * *

><p>It had been nearly a month since Jim found me in the cold streets of London – it was without a doubt the longest month of my life. Over the course of those mere four weeks I was purged of my religious convictions, made into a mess of a man with no direction or light to follow, then rebuilt and transformed into a perfect embodiment of loyalty for Moriarty's bidding. For the first few days following our meeting, I often sat catatonic in the parlor of my feeble flat, trying to sift through whatever coherent thoughts remained in my mind. Most everything had been shattered and left in a heap for my brain to process; I could hardly remember my name, and days began to blur together. I still remember the sequence of events during this time, though.<p>

_ ... . .._. .. ._. ... _ ._ . . _._ ._ ._ ... _ _ ._. _ .._ ._. .

A week after Jim had rescued me, he'd begun communicating through text messages. They were always short one- to four-word messages:

_Hello, dear_. _–M_

_Stop being ordinary, love. –M_

_Come play, lamb –M_

_Ready to join me? –M _

At first, such things were disturbing to read. Pet names and endearing terms littered the lines, an attempt to make me feel safe with him, no doubt. They did little else but put me on edge, paranoid that he was coming to get me. Deep down, I knew this was only the beginning of something incredibly dangerous.

_ _. ._.. _._ _. _ _.. _._. ._ _. ... ._ ..._ . _ . _. _ ._

On the tenth day, I had plucked my Bible from its home on the shelf and began to read a few verses with the intention of calming the churning emotions within my heart. Not long after, I received a message from the devil.

_IT IS A LIE. -M _

My breathing quickened as my eyes darted about the room. _Where is he? Can he see me? He must see me; there's a camera somewhere or a man out the window tipping him off_. My thoughts became extremely paranoid in nature. _Perhaps he is in the flat already, hiding in plain sight_. My heart raced. Jim was enough of a snake to go undetected while hunting; it would be simple enough for him to slip in without alerting me. When he didn't spring out from some dark corner of the room, I relaxed a bit and headed to bed – not to sleep, just to lie down and think.

His words ran through my head day in and day out afterwards: _IT IS A LIE. _I began truly questioning my beliefs. The devil was a relentless one; he wouldn't stop until his desires were met.

_._ . _ _ ... . _.. . ..._ .. ._.. .. ... _ _ . _ ._. _ .. _. _.

Jim began to visit my flat around the second week (I believe it was the sixteenth day, to be exact). First came short visits to simply discuss my mental state – "Have you given up on that silly fairy-tale of yours yet?" had been the first thing he'd asked when I'd invited him in. I assumed he was referring to my religious conviction; I'd convinced myself I'd all but tossed my beliefs to the rubbish bin by this point. Hope still kept me clinging to them, though.

"I have, Jim. I don't quite enjoy your unnerving texts and constant questioning, but I do know you're doing what's best for me." I bowed my head in a small gesture of thanks, only to be scoffed at with his usual smirk.

"Oh no. That's funny, but noooo. I don't think you truly understand my intentions, lamb. Daddy's not doing this for you – why in the world would he? No, my love, I'm doing this for me. You've got the military background I've been searching for – the skills as a sniper which I've been longing for. I have to break apart your religious delusions in order to let you play the game with me, though. Can't be praying to God while you're picking off his beautiful children one by one; it'd only drive you mad. But it's a bit annoying, Sebastian, having to take so much time tearing down such ludicrous beliefs. Truly. Quite. Annoying." His eyes danced with cold flames as his gaze pierced into my soul. They were hypnotizing, and I could do nothing more than stare in return. "No matter. Some toys take a bit longer to be broken in, to get that new plastic smell off them. That's all part of the fun." He touched my face lightly with the tips of his fingers, watching my reactions with overwhelming curiosity. Jim left a minute later without another word.

._ .. _ ... ._ _._ ... .. _ .. ... ._ _. ._ _ .

By the twenty-second day, Jim began to regularly occupy my flat for extended periods of time. I became acclimated to his erratic visiting schedule – he'd come around four in the afternoon one day and then seven AM the next (there really was no way to predict his visits, so I stopped trying) – and slowly came to enjoy his company. Conversation was never a problem; he always had something to say or comment on.

On the twenty-sixth day, our dialogue was particularly interesting.

"Consulting Criminal." Jim had said while carving an apple with his pocket knife. I simply looked up at him, confused. "That's my title. The world's only consulting criminal."

Questions raced through my mind, though I knew most would be laughed at and disregarded by the man across from me. "What, pray tell, does a consulting criminal do?"

Jim smiled and continued to cut away at the fruit. "I do whatever I please. Steal, murder, organize crime for those too incompetent to organize it themselves."

I tried to process the idea of a person making a living off of such a career. As I slowly blinked back disbelief, I continued my questioning. "Right… and is this a lucrative business? I mean… how large of a clientele base do you possibly pull in?"

"Oh you'd be surprised. So many people search for the easy way out of life, Sebastian. 'Jim, please fix it for me so my wife goes missing.' 'Jim, please fix it for me so I can relocate without my kids knowing I'm still alive.' 'Jim, please fix it for me so my boss isn't around anymore.' " Jim took a bite out of the apple and looked up with wide eyes. "So I help them out. It's all too easy, really. So boring. So ordinary. If they could just take a minute to think for themselves_, _they really wouldn't need me. Thank God they're incapable of using their brains, though."

I simply stared at him and sifted through my thoughts. Who in the world had I gotten myself involved with? Had this man really killed people? Stolen money? Cars? People? I shuddered as my mind created a horrific list of atrocities Jim may have been able to commit. Sure, he _seemed_ intimidating. But he didn't _look_ like a killer. He had a doe-eyed face most of the time, one which gave the impression of a harmless man. Yet… when he dressed in his suits, the look in his eyes would change immensely – Jim suddenly became daunting, powerful, and quite formidable to the meek-hearted. A true devil in every aspect.

"Yes, yes, yes, annnnnnd yes." Jim's sing-song voice broke my chain of thought; I looked back to him with wide eyes. "I know you were listing off the crimes I _may_ have committed in your head. Just wanted to confirm your suspicions." He smiled.

Jim left me ten minutes later, open-mouthed in a state of disbelief. I barely slept that night; I was too worried he'd come to kill me now that I knew who he was.

.. _.. _ _. _ _ _._ _. _ ._ .. .._. .. ._ ._ _. _ _ _ ._. ._.. ._ _._

It had been exactly thirty-four days since I'd met Jim. I was uninterested in my old bible – I'd actually tossed it a week ago with the rest of the rubbish I'd accumulated through the past few days. I now expected Jim to show up whenever he felt like it, and became accustomed to having a fresh pot of tea on hand every few hours or so. He enjoyed being welcomed with a cuppa Irish Breakfast or Earl Gray, thought it was a kind of conversation-starter or what have you. My days were a lot better with Jim around. I was finally on the road to happiness.

It was a Monday - Jim had visited to discuss some plan of integrating me into his business. However, he seemed to have finally taken time to look at the flat surrounding us and allowed it to dominate the conversation. "Sebastian, dear, this flat is awful. Hardly fit to be a home." He scowled at a piece of art hanging on the wall, one I was particularly fond of. I agreed, the flat was small and dingy, out-of-date and poorly decorated, but he didn't have to look so disgusted by that picture. It was a painting of my father, a decorated war hero and long-deceased. My sister had created it for me when I enlisted; "_I was going to just frame his photo and call it good, but I thought this would be a lot more personal, Sebby. Here's the photo, too. You can hang one or both, I won't mind_." Of course I had kept it with me through the years. I loved that picture; it was the only thing I had to remember both Dad and her by.

I looked back to the man standing before the painting. Sometimes I really hated Jim.

"Yeah, well an army pension doesn't exactly get you a high-end loft in Central London." I glared as he continued scoffing at my decor. He didn't seem to notice the anger radiating off me - or perhaps he did and was simply ignoring it. He probably thought it was cute of me to be mad about something so trivial. I sighed and let it go.

"Right. Well, it could certainly get you more than this." He made a grand gesture, sweeping his arms about as he spun to look at me. He held his hands aloft for a few moments - I'm not sure if he was searching for applause or… I don't know. I have no clue what he was doing - and smiled before dropping them back down to his side, shoving his hands in his pocket. "No, no. This won't do. Not at all." He pulled out his mobile - an iPhone, of course. Jim loves luxury and expense - and tapped out a text before turning his attention back to me. "No need to thank me. I'll see you soon."

Moments later, Jim was out the door and in a black car. I wondered what his next visit would yield; hopefully he'd just want to try a different blend of tea, not paint my walls with the blood of some poor, unknown bird. I shuddered as I headed to the shower, hoping to cleanse myself of the horrid ideas now running through my mind.


End file.
